


Company Under Cover

by strwbrryklly



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Missing in Action, Missions Gone Wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22950487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strwbrryklly/pseuds/strwbrryklly
Summary: This can't be over yet. They've only just begun.
Relationships: Genji Shimada & Hanzo Shimada, Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 13
Kudos: 140





	Company Under Cover

**Author's Note:**

> hello all!!
> 
> boy was this a bit of a monster to churn out, how the hell was i able to write 20k long fics as a teenager?? who knows. but i wanted to finish this before getting started on my next piece, and it's finally done, if not maybe a little rushed in places.
> 
> a lot of bits and pieces of this work is inspired by other mchanzo fics i've read in the past, but i'm terrible at remembering these things so please tell me if i need to credit any specific influences that you can recognise! this is also not beta read, so i apologise for any mistakes.
> 
> song i listened to on repeat while writing this: candles by daughter. the lyrics don't match but it had the energy i needed to write this.

Hanzo has learned to steel himself against bad news. After growing up surrounded by violence and murder, manipulation and crime, of being raised by a family he eventually turned on, and spending years living on pure survival instinct, insults and death now land on him like glancing blows, grazing the skin but never plunging deep into his flesh.

But over the past few months, someone has weaved his way into Hanzo’s heart, settled comfortably against his soul and beat in tandem with his pulse, and when Winston gives him the news that McCree is missing, Hanzo’s chest is ripped open.

“We waited two hours, in case he was just late,” Winston explains, shifting awkwardly at the door to Hanzo’s room. His eyes are sombre but otherwise seemingly oblivious to how his words are like ice water dripping down Hanzo’s spine, and the longer he talks, the more chilled to the bone Hanzo becomes, any feeling of warmth draining from his body.

Shit.

“Did you try calling him instead?”

“Yes. Both from his communicator and personal phone.”

 _Shit_.

“Did he indicate any problems in his last transmission yesterday?”

Winston shakes his head. “Nothing. He said he was fine and everything was going smoothly. His plan today was to try and win over one of Miller’s employees and possibly infiltrate the building, so that’s where we’ll start our search. We’ll notify you with any updates.”

Hanzo tries to keep his posture straight and disciplined as always, but the trembling in his thighs warns him of the hurricane beginning to form in his mind. He can already start to feel his thoughts whirling in the winds of the oncoming storm. He flinches when Winston places a large, heavy hand on his shoulder, bringing him back to reality for only a moment.

“I’m sorry this is happening, Hanzo. We’re pulling as many strings as possible to figure out what’s going on.”

His reply barely registers in his own mind before it spills from his mouth. “I…I know. Thank you, Winston, but I would like to be alone now.”

Winston drops his arm. “Take care, Hanzo. We will find him.”

He can only make a choked noise and jerk is head in a nod of acknowledgement before promptly shutting the door in Winston’s face, backing up against it, and taking a heavy, shuddering breath. He can feel the walls closing in on him, his lungs constricting, and as much as he’s trying to steady himself, his thoughts are racing far ahead of him, past the realms of probability and straight into the worst-case scenario.

He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone.

Sliding to the floor, Hanzo presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, willing the tears away as his breaths come faster. He tries to rationalise with his swelling panic – McCree’s only missed one check in; he’s probably too busy to talk, or communication is too dangerous for him right now. Jesse McCree has decades of experience under his belt, and the chances of him going down during a mission as simple as this one seem slim.

But there’s always the possibility, and Hanzo can’t seem to lift the weight of dread pressing against his chest. The image of McCree’s body, lying in an unnamed alleyway, breath long ago left his lungs, rattles through Hanzo’s skull, and it takes an eternity and a half for him to get his breathing even vaguely under control as his mind tries to convince him his worst nightmare has become his reality.

* * *

Hanzo gazes out at the ocean, the sun long ago set and the breeze leaving goose bumps on his skin in its wake. It’s cool, but not biting – he will retreat to his quarters soon, but for now will relish in his evening solitude.

Or lack thereof.

There’s no tell-tale jingle of spurs, but Jesse McCree is loud enough without them; Hanzo cursing himself recognising the other man’s heavy footsteps behind him so quickly.

“I don’t have any alcohol with me,” he says, wincing at the way his voice breaks the peaceful quiet around him. Tonight, he only wants the calm of the ocean and the stillness of the sky to occupy him, instead of a rowdy cowboy and a few too many drinks that get them…carried away.

McCree sniffs.

“S’alright. Didn’t feel like any anyway.”

Any tension that had drained from Hanzo’s body in his time alone out here slowly seeps back into him; turning him to stone as McCree approaches his side, oblivious to the effect he has on the other man. He leans his elbows on the balcony railing.

“Beautiful night.”

“Mm.”

“Sky’s completely clear. The stars are pretty bright around here.”

Hanzo risks a glance over at the other man. He’s just come out of the shower – long hair damp and plastered against his forehead, ratty t-shirt and age-old sweatpants having long lost any real shape or elasticity. He’s barefoot and hasn’t even got his hat on, and even though he’s clothed Hanzo still can’t shake the feeling that McCree is standing completely bare next to him, if not physically. His mouth is slack and eyes half-closed, completely at ease while Hanzo is here, worrying his lip until it’s swollen and sore.

The worry on McCree’s face slowly comes back to him right in front of Hanzo’s eyes, and he huffs and shifts his weight a little. The hairs on the back of Hanzo’s neck stand in an instant.

“Heading out early tomorrow on a solo mission. Austria.”

And there it is.

Any calm in McCree has vanished as quickly as it came and it hurts a little; the gentle sting of a pinprick to Hanzo’s heart. As much as he hates to admit it, Hanzo would have watched McCree watching the stars for hours on end, taking in every little detail and committing it to his memory. They’ve done it before, multiple times. But in Overwatch, serenity can only last seconds before melting away into the weight of the world on one’s shoulders. None of them can escape it for too long.

“How long?” he asks.

“Three weeks.”

“Undercover?”

“Mostly. Bringing out the old ‘Joel Morricone’ moniker.” McCree snorts. “People have been itching for his next article, after all.”

There’s no answer Hanzo can come up with to continue the conversation, so he lets silence fall over them. McCree’s still looking up at the sky, but is tapping his fingers on the railing now, and the sound begins to ring louder and louder until the blanket of quiet becomes suffocating.

“Say it.”

McCree starts. “Say what?”

“I don’t know. You’re fidgeting. You want to talk.”

This is nothing like the other nights.

Nights where conversation comes easy, helped along by whatever alcoholic beverage they’ve brought with them. Nights after missions, nursing tender wounds and aching muscles. Night joking about teammates, or comparing battle simulation scores. Nights that were followed by mornings of Hanzo waking in a bed that is not his own.

“I mean…I don’t know what to say.” McCree waves his hand, as if trying to grab something out of reach. “It’s just…it’s gonna be pretty long mission. Minimal communication, nobody by my side.”

He sighs, and in the pause Hanzo realises his lip is bleeding.

“Tonight feels like a deadline.”

Hanzo doesn’t think he understands, but something is nagging at the back of the brain, like it knows exactly what’s going on, though full comprehension escapes him. “For what?” he asks.

McCree turns to him, and Hanzo’s heart skips a beat.

He knows where that look takes him, normally, but tonight, with the cooling evening breeze on his skin and the lack of alcohol in his system, it feels different. For better or worse, he doesn’t know. He thinks that maybe he imagines the ‘ _us_ ’ fall from McCree’s lips, but knows from the look in his eyes that there was no trick of the mind involved.

Anxiety roiling in his gut, he takes a step back. Something flits behind McCree’s eyes before he tries for a reassuring smile. It makes Hanzo’s stomach twist even further, his thoughts shrouded in fog upon the realisation hitting him like a gunshot right through his lungs.

“Sorry.” McCree huffs a laugh before turning away. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not,” Hanzo chokes out.

“Yeah, it is.”

“No, it’s _not_. Tell me what you want to say.”

“But it’s obviously freaking you out.” McCree drags a hand down his face as he turns back around, eyes pained. “I’m not…I don’t exactly have a way with words, you know.”

Hanzo snorts despite the uneasiness leaving him feeling off balance, folding his arms across his chest. “I think the existence of Joel Morricone proves otherwise.”

“Oh, fuck off.” McCree turns and rests his forehead against his forearms on the railing. He mutters something, but Hanzo can’t quite catch it.

“What did you say?”

Groaning, McCree lifts himself back to full height. “I _said_ , your brother told me to stop being a fucking idiot or forever hold my peace.”

So Genji was involved as well. Hanzo thought back the past few weeks, skimming through everything he can remember about his recent conversations with his brother. Their meetings have been few and far between lately – between them both going out on separate missions and Hanzo’s still-present apprehension over getting too close to Genji, there has been little time to catch up. He hadn’t said anything Hanzo can pointedly recall anyway, and the steel plating over his face makes it more difficult than usual for Hanzo to discern his facial expressions and body language to know if there was anything he was hiding. Damnit.

Despite this, the haze in his mind is beginning to clear, and a sense of understanding is washing over his body. It’s not hard for him to understand what this is about – what McCree would go to Genji for advice for; what could possibly make him this nervous. McCree is as terrified of this – whatever _this_ is – as Hanzo is, and it brings him a sense of clarity. Whatever the other man wants to tell him, Hanzo has to coax it out of him. He has to meet Jesse halfway.

“So?” He closes the space he’d previously put between them, curiosity winning out over his trepidation. “Which are you going to choose?”

McCree scoffs. “Not sure yet. But I’ve been a _fucking idiot_ all my life, and it’s pretty tempting to stay on that trajectory.”

Hanzo’s heart is beating half out of his body, and he doesn’t know what brings him stepping even closer to McCree’s side. His skin feels too tight around him, but his chest is open and willing, and McCree stares at him as if he’s sprouted wings from his back.

“Is there…anything I can do?” Hanzo asks, almost breathlessly, and he raises his eyes to meet McCree’s stunned expression. “To convince you otherwise?”

The air is thick between them, heat coming off McCree’s skin in waves. He huffs out a breath, and his hand reaches out to grip Hanzo’s shoulder gently. “You don’t have to do anything, Hanzo. You being here is enough to help me make my choice.”

“And what is your decision?”

The hand on his shoulder traces his collarbone and brushes up his neck until Jesse is cupping his jaw gently, the heat from his palm seeping into Hanzo’s skin. “Darlin’, I think you might already know.”

* * *

_Knock knock._

The air around Hanzo is thick and suffocating when he lifts his head, and when he tries to stand his legs have lost almost all their strength. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but the room is enveloped in shadow, the sun’s light through the window long faded. His body is drained of all its energy, and he hasn’t enough drive to go about his usual nightly routine, but his brain is still whirring, supplying unhelpful pictures of McCree lying limp and lifeless, of McCree bound and beaten and bruised, of McCree blue-skinned and cold and unfeeling.

Another soft knock comes from the door behind him, and he turns slow and heavy to open it, nothing like his usual sharp movements. Nothing feels real, like his head is filled with clouds and body morphing into concrete.

The last death that sent Hanzo’s mind into this kind of spiral was the one of his brother, by Hanzo’s own hands, but now what remains of him are standing at his door, faceplate off and golden brown eyes, surrounded by scars, filled with sympathy but unblinking as he takes in Hanzo’s appearance. He feels terrible; probably looks terrible too.

“Genji.” His voice sounds foreign in his mouth and he cringes.

“May I come in?” His brother’s voice doesn’t sound right either, but Hanzo steps away from the door anyway, allowing Genji to come inside. Neither of their footsteps are as light as they usually are.

Genji takes a moment to survey the room, before Hanzo breaks the silence between them.

“Have you found him?”

The response comes a heartbeat too late, and Hanzo already knows the answer.

“There is no news on his whereabouts yet.”

“Then why are you here?” Hanzo snaps, and the aggression surprises both brothers. Hanzo is not by any means a passive man, but his discipline helps to keep him from overreaction, and whatever threatens to spill over he has slowly learned to reel in and calm down. Over the past ten months he learned to bring stability into his life and emotions, and balance his duty with his own hobbies and desires.

Something else has recently formed inside of him alongside these lessons – a tentative form of safety, a fragile kind of contentment. He’s started feeling more at home at Gibraltar, or at least, it’s what he thinks home is supposed to feel like – he’s never felt this sort of welcoming warmth since he was a young child. He has friends here, as nervous as he is to call them that – Lena’s endless energy and Mei’s quiet excitement, Satya’s similar mindset on order and organisation and Zarya’s dedication to fitness and strength. Even his broken relationship with his brother has slowly begun to mend, with the help of Zenyatta guidance. The buds of hope are beginning to grow from the ashes of bridges burned long ago, and Hanzo is finally allowing himself to believe that maybe forgiveness and redemption are things not completely impossible for him to achieve in this lifetime.

Most of this change in him has been influenced and encouraged by one specific source, however. Jesse McCree always took him at face value, not basing his judgements on Hanzo’s bleak past but instead who he was at that very moment, and what he wanted to become. He challenged Hanzo at any moment he could – who could get the best scores in training, who could be the most ‘helpful’ when it came to carrying supplies to and from storage, who could hold the most liquor – the last one being a game they never played again after a trip to the infirmary the next morning which half tempted Angela to ban any type of alcohol from the Watchpoint. Conversation came easy between the two, whether reminiscing about their pasts or reflecting on their missions together. The late nights and eventual embraces seemed like a natural progression in their friendship, until it happened so much that ‘friendship’ didn’t seem like the right word to use for them anymore.

And now it could be over before anything could really begin.

A tense silence falls between the brothers, and Genji’s expression softens as Hanzo drops his gaze to the floor. He tries not to flinch when Genji moves towards him and pats his shoulder in a small gesture of sympathy.

“Hanzo, you are my brother.” Hanzo dares to look back up and while the corner of Genji’s mouth is quirked in an echo of a smile, his eyes are shining – though that could just be Hanzo’s own vision blurring. Genji continues without a hitch.

“I’m here for _you_.”

Hanzo swallows an incredulous snort, and simply nods. Suspicion can still creep up on him – whether Genji actually cares for him, or wants him in Overwatch, or truly forgives him for nearly destroying him in one fell sweep. But Genji came to him for reconciliation upon Overwatch’s recall, and he has come to him now to help, and he can’t turn that away as much as the voice in the back of his head tries to convince him he doesn’t deserve it.

“Thank you.” His answer is short but eases the tension between them.

“Let me get us some dinner from the mess hall and eat here, okay?” Genji suggests gently.

“I— yes. That would be appreciated.”

Genji nods. “Alright. I’ll be right back.”

He slips back out of Hanzo’s room, and the stones in Hanzo’s chest begin to dissipate. He doesn’t feel completely hopeless anymore.

* * *

Jesse breaks the kiss with a gasp, then chuckles lightly.

“I never thought I’d actually get to do this without half a bottle of somethin’ in me.”

Hanzo grins, and goes to wrap his arms around Jesse’s waist. “I’m glad we finally got around to it.”

They stay there for a while, Hanzo’s head on Jesse’s shoulder and Jesse’s nose in Hanzo’s hair, swaying gently like teenagers at their first dance. McCree stills, and Hanzo looks up to meet his darkened eyes. He snorts.

“Let me guess, the next words out of your mouth are going to be ‘your room or mine’?”

McCree feigns offense, taking a hand from Hanzo’s shoulder to put over his heart in mock surprise. “Hanzo Shimada, I would never!”

“Sure,” Hanzo says wryly. “But if that _was_ your question, hypothetically…”

“Yours is closer.”

“But yours is nicer. It’d be worth the extra walking.”

“Hm...alright.” McCree furrows his brows before nodding quickly, and Hanzo smirks at the thought that the other man can be so easily persuaded by him. He pulls Jesse down for another quick kiss and the other man easily relents.

He mumbles against Hanzo’s lips. “So are we gonna go, or…?”

Hanzo rolls his eyes. “Patience, gunslinger. You said it yourself earlier – it is a beautiful night.”

McCree sighs and relaxes against him. “All the more beautiful with you here with me.”

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.”

“Nah, not a chance.”

* * *

Once Genji leaves after dinner, Hanzo staggers almost drunkenly toward the bed, undressing to his underwear and dropping his clothes to the floor to be picked up another time. He’ll regret his carelessness when he wakes, but now, as he pulls the covers back to slip underneath, he can’t find it in him to give a damn.

Facing towards the middle of the bed, Hanzo can’t help but imagine the tousled mop of hair and soft smile Jesse had the last time the night before he left, eyes shining and chest heaving in breathlessness as they lie together. The pink on his cheeks are starting to fade, and his eyelids flutter shut as he lets out a long, satisfied exhale. Hanzo watches him in comfortable silence, eyes tracing every line on his face and purpling marks littered across his skin, mirroring Hanzo’s own. Hanzo basks in the false warmth for a moment, but when McCree’s eyes open and he looks over at Hanzo, the memory transforms to something completely different before his eyes.

Jesse’s face falls, and Hanzo’s eyes widen when his breaths go ragged and shallow. He tries to say something, only for his mouth to go slack, saliva glistening red. The blood drips down his chin and soaks into his beard, tainting it maroon as his eyes glaze over and his face drains of colour. His chest stops rising and falling, and Hanzo can only watch in horror as his lover goes completely still beside him.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Hanzo rolls over and away from the vision, curling in on himself and pleading with his traitorous brain to let him rest.

It complies eventually.

* * *

“Hey, sweetheart. Time to get up.”

The warmth against Hanzo’s back disappears, and he groans, lazily reaching an arm behind him to try and drag Jesse back into bed beside him. He hears a soft chuckle behind him, but his hand finds nothing but air, so he reluctantly opens his eyes and turns around.

Jesse’s standing his back turned to him, shimmying into his jeans and bending to retrieve his belt from the floor beside the bed. The morning sun filters through the sheer curtains across the window, filling the room with warm, pale light. Hanzo sits up, and the dull ache of last night’s exertion makes itself known as he stretches his arms up towards the ceiling. McCree makes a satisfied hum as he fastens his belt and turns back around. Hanzo reaches for him again like a petulant child.

“What time is it?”

“Eight thirty.”

“Where are you going?”

“I got a mission, remember?”

Hanzo’s hands fall back to the bed. Oh. “I remember.”

He goes to get out of bed and gather his clothes when the metal hand on his shoulder stops him, and McCree pushes him gently back onto the bed. “It’s okay, Hanzo, you can stay here.”

“But I want to see you off at the tarmac.”

“You don’t have to.” Jesse brings his other hand up to Hanzo’s face, thumbing his cheekbone. “You’re probably tired after yesterday. You deserve a sleep in.”

“You’re probably tired too,” Hanzo points out, raising and eyebrow, and McCree cracks a smile.

“Yeah, well,” he leans forward to press a quick kiss to Hanzo’s forehead. “Duty calls.”

Before he has the chance to move up and away Hanzo grabs at the back of his neck and pull him back in. Their lips meet for a moment and Jesse sighs into the kiss, before breaking it off way too soon for Hanzo to be satisfied.

He lies back in bed and watches as McCree finishes getting dressed and ready to go, limbs heavy with fatigue. When he comes out of the bathroom, hair combed and hat disconcertingly absent, he sits at the end of the bed and plays with the sheet for a moment.

“You mean this, right?”

“Mean what?”

“This.” McCree gestures between them. “You ‘n’ me.”

He scratches the back of his neck as Hanzo props himself up against the headboard. “Of course I mean it.”

Jesse’s releases a shuddering breath and cracks a smile, relieved. “Good. I’m real glad about that. I don’t wanna leave and come back in a month to find out we’re back to where we started.”

Hanzo nods thoughtfully. “I don’t think that could ever happen.”

McCree’s smile widens, and he gives Hanzo a quick peck on the cheek before standing up and taking his luggage in hand. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Hanzo smiled softly. “I’ll be waiting.”

And Jesse was gone.

* * *

The sun is already shining bright in his eyes, and Hanzo winces as he opens them, bringing up a hand to shade his face from the light. The past few days since McCree’s disappearance the sky has been hidden by a thick blanket of clouds, and if Hanzo was a poet he would have compared this to his own mood, somewhere between hopeful and mourning.

He notices his phone lighting up at his bedside table, and with a groan he reaches for it and takes a glance at the screen.

There’s about seven different people who have texted him in the past five minutes, and they all say some variation of the same thing.

_We found him._

Within minutes, he’s dressed and ready at the door to the briefing room, knocking insistently. The door opens and Genji is on the other side of it, faceplate on this time, and when Hanzo looks past him he sees the room filled with agents – Winston, Hana, Angela, Mei, Reinhardt, Fareeha, and Lúcio.

“When are we going?” he asks, and Genji sighs, walking out into the corridor and shutting the door behind them.

“We’re leaving in an hour and a half. But you’re not coming.”

Hanzo blinks. “I’m not?”

Genji shakes his head. “I’m sorry brother, but you haven’t left your room in days. You’ve only eaten when someone has brought food to you, and you haven’t been keeping up with training. You’re too emotionally compromised by this already, and going on the rescue mission isn’t going to help.”

“But I—” Hanzo stops himself from raising his voice. “I need to help. I can’t just stay here while you’re out looking for him.”

“I know it’ll be difficult,” Genji soothes, “but this is the best option for everyone. If everything goes well, we’ll be back by as early this evening. And from what we know, his situation isn’t life threatening. We’ll be back with him before you know it.”

Hanzo narrows his eyes, deliberating. What he wants more than anything is to join his brother and the others on the mission, but everything Genji says makes sense, much to his annoyance. He can’t come with them to only end up putting McCree and the team in danger. He sighs, and steps back.

“Okay.”

Genji’s voice sounds surprised. “Okay?”

“Yes. Good luck, brother.”

Genji’s body visibly relaxes under his armour, and he slings his arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Thank you, Hanzo. He’ll be back with us before you know it. We’ll keep him safe.”

* * *

Hanzo watches with bated breath as the Orca comes into sight on the horizon. His legs are shaking, prosthetics and all, and he has to clutch the railing of the balcony to keep himself upright. A small group of agents have congregated on the ground below him – Angela with as much medical equipment as she could manage to haul to the launchpad, Winston and Mei whispering in hushed anticipation, Lena zipping around them with her familiar inability to stay still, simultaneous excitement and worry pouring from her body language in waves. He cannot handle them right now, and so is stationed above them at a small balcony overlooking the area, with nothing to accompany him other than hope and dread, a sickening mixture of emotions that has him fighting the bile rising to his throat.

Genji had called ahead to say they were near, and that McCree would need medical assistance along with Hana, badly injured during the extraction, but were in no immediate danger with Lúcio at their sides. It had been a relief for Hanzo to hear his brother’s reassuring voice, but until they’re on the ground, and he can see Jesse with his own two eyes, he cannot be completely at ease. He needs more proof that Jesse’s alright – needs to see his face, hear his voice, feel his heartbeat. It isn’t going to feel real until then.

The dot in the sky grows, forming the familiar shape of the Orca. It’s coming in slow; Fareeha careful with injured people on board, and Hanzo tries to rationalise with his impatience for the ship to go faster. But soon enough, it’s directly above them, lowering itself to the ground, painfully deliberate and precise. It lands, and the doors open. Hanzo takes in a sharp breath.

The first person to come out is Hana; she’s leaning heavily against Lúcio and limping, blood coming sluggishly from a gash in her calf. Angela runs forward to meet them, offering a stretcher, but Hana bats her hands away. Even from up here, Hanzo can hear the girl’s indignant “I can walk!”, followed by a quiet quip from Lúcio pointing out that he’s basically carrying her. They leave the launchpad, Winston stopping them for a brief conversation, and letting them on their way. Angela calls back to Mei, who follows the order and picks up the medical equipment, trailing behind them.

Next comes Fareeha, uninjured but exhausted, walking off the ship and wincing a little as Lena starts babbling in her ear about the Orca. Winston follows, speaking to Fareeha in hushed tones, probably about the inevitable debrief this mission will have. She nods along to his instructions, cracks a smile when Lena hugs her, and makes her way indoors, shedding her body armour as she goes. None of them notice Hanzo, standing on his toes now, trying to see his way into the shadows inside the Orca.

Finally, two familiar figures appear – one sleek, silver cyberninja leading a dusty, rugged cowboy onto the ground. Hanzo’s breath catches in his throat – McCree’s face is obscured by his ever-present hat, but it’s obvious he’s been through a lot the past few days. His prosthetic arm is hanging limply at his side, and his usual gait is hindered by the occasional stumble. He’s carrying his chest piece in his other hand, and the terrible dents in it makes Hanzo worry for the bruises that must be blossoming on Jesse’s abdomen. His suspicions are confirmed when Lena dashes in for a hug, and Jesse’s groan is loud enough to reach Hanzo’s ears, and his heart skips a beat. Lena jumps away immediately, rambling apologies as Winston joins them, voice low and words undecipherable from Hanzo’s perch. They talk for a minute, until Winston turns to leave, beckoning Lena to come with him and give McCree some space. Genji takes McCree’s chest plate from his grasp and follows their path, but stops for a moment, deliberating, until his head tilts up and even if Hanzo can’t see them through the face plate, he knows their eyes meet.

The small gesture Genji makes with his hand has Hanzo climbing over the balcony railing and scrambling clumsily down the wall, lacking any of his usual finesse and composure that has come from years of training. He lands heavily beside his brother, who puts a hand on his shoulder.

“He’s okay,” Genji murmurs, playful lilt in his voice nowhere to be seen. “Nothing too serious, especially not as bad as Hana’s leg, but take him to Angela as soon as you can just in case.”

Hanzo nods, unable to trust his voice to stay steady in reply. Genji pats Hanzo’s shoulder gently before letting his arm drop, and Hanzo waits until his brother’s footsteps fade to look up and meet Jesse’s eyes.

McCree’s jaw is swollen, his cheek bruised a nasty shade of purple, but his eyes are still bright and his smile breaks Hanzo’s heart in two while simultaneously stitching the pieces back together. The few metres between them feel like miles, and Hanzo closes the distance in a few unsure steps, Jesse still watching him with his soft, tawny eyes.

The world comes to a standstill, and Hanzo is too scared to move and destroy whatever dream he’s living in, but Jesse huffs out a small breath; possibly a word that Hanzo doesn’t catch, and the dam breaks. He lifts his hand to cup McCree’s uninjured cheek, and Jesse leans into it, eyes clouding slightly in the pain of the gentle action. A strangled noise is caught in Hanzo’s throat, and he drops his hand to only tentatively wrap his arms around Jesse’s waist, face pressed into his shoulder as the tears finally force their way into his eyes. Jesse gasps slightly, before exhaling, heartbeat steady against Hanzo’s, and he lowers his own head, nestling his face into Hanzo’s hair and winding his flesh arm around the other man’s shoulders, breathing words of adoration into his skin.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!
> 
> if you want to follow me somewhere else for updates or want to support me somehow, follow me on twitter and tumblr at @strwbrryklly!


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